


Clean

by Alexicon



Series: JayTim Week 2016 [4]
Category: Batman - All Media Types, DCU
Genre: Hurt/Comfort, JayTim Week, JayTim Week 2016, M/M, potentially disturbing imagery
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-09-26
Updated: 2016-09-26
Packaged: 2018-08-17 10:06:32
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,637
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8140090
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Alexicon/pseuds/Alexicon
Summary: Jason almost drowns, and then he has a quest.(Prompt 6: Redemption)





	

**Author's Note:**

> For Day 6 of Jaytim Week: Redemption
> 
>  
> 
> ~~and yes omg i'm so sorry it's super late and my other stuff's going to be even Later~~

It was only a minute before Tim realized that Jason wasn’t fighting beside him anymore, but it was a minute too long. Jason had hit his head on the way down and wasn’t awake to struggle or float.

Tim pulled Jason out of the river with arms aching and a new appreciation for the sturdiness of a good belt. He’d almost strangled Jason with his own jacket a good few times before getting a good grip on Jason’s belt, and he hoped Jason would be as grateful for it as Tim was when he woke up.

Tim refused to let himself think _‘if_ he woke up’. Jason would wake up. He had to.

* * *

Jason opened his eyes to a room with a straw roof and windows with no glass to filter the bright light shining on him.

“You’re awake!” a voice said from somewhere he couldn’t see.

“Am I?” Jason muttered, and looked down at himself. He was wearing his own boxers and a loose shirt that must have belonged to the man who spoke just now. “Where am I?”

“You’re here because you need something,” the man said, coming into view from behind a curtain. Jason could see a glimpse of a bed, before the curtain dropped. He was old, laugh lines strong on his face. His face looked familiar, but Jason knew he’d never seen the man before -- it was the sort of familiarity born of seeing the same expression in different faces over the years. This man was a teacher, and the good kind: the kind who would rather his students have the achievements than he get praise for it.

“They always are,” the old man added, and swept off before Jason could ask who _‘they’_ were. He returned holding something wrapped in a bright white cloth which was a bit longer than a paper towel roll but enough like it in width that Jason had to blink a few times to make sure it wasn’t one.

“This is for you,” the man said, handing it over. The cloth was soft; Jason took a few seconds to feel it before he started peeling at the free end.

Jason unwrapped, and kept unwrapping, until he finally felt there was something hard in the middle and there was brown staining the white cloth. The bottom of Jason’s stomach dropped out suddenly; he’d seen that color on cloth too many times to be really unsettled by it, but it seemed wrong to see it on all that white.

He found out why there was blood stiffening the fabric when he got to the middle and found a knife lying there, covered in dried blood. It was a combat knife, serrated on one side and a sharp, straight edge on the other and just as black as the Batman’s cape under all the blood. It had been a beautiful knife one day, before someone had put it away without taking care of it first. For a fleeting moment, Jason was tempted to hunt down the owner and give them a lesson in proper knife care, but that was overshadowed by his confusion at the situation.

“Why did you give me this?”

“It’s yours,” the man answered.

Jason had never seen this knife before, and if this was a gift he’d be asking for the gift slip in about two seconds, because this was not a good state for a knife to be in.

“I can’t use it,” Jason said. “It’s got blood all over it.”

The old man smiled kindly. “So do you,” he replied. Jason looked down, but there was no blood on him. “The blood doesn’t make it less of a knife, does it?”

Jason rubbed at the knife, but nothing happened. “The blood’s not coming off,” he pointed out, frowning.

The man handed him a map and grinned. “That’s where your quest comes in. You’re going to wash it in the Fountain.”

“What’s the Fountain?” Jason asked, and then looked down at the map. The Fountain was marked; it was a lake which looked perfectly circular.

“It’s the only water that can clean all that blood off,” the man said. He looked up suddenly. “It’s time.”

Jason glanced up too, wondering if there was a clock on the ceiling now. There wasn’t; still only the beams under the thatching. “Time for _what?”_

“You have to start now,” the old man ordered, pushing him through a curtain which lead outside; Jason stumbled over the grass just past the threshold.

The sky was completely covered with clouds, but still as bright as a sunlit day. Jason was used to Gotham skies, so this was normal to him. The only problem was, he knew Gotham like the back of his hand -- but this place? He’d been counting on the sun to show where north was, when the man had first given him the map.

“How do I know where I’m going?” he asked, and the man grinned, mischievous and even brighter than anything Jason’d seen on his face yet.

“You’ll figure it out,” said the old man. Then he disappeared behind his curtain again.

Jason looked out at the world around him, and down at the blood-caked knife. He shrugged, picked a direction, and started walking.

It was about twenty minutes, he judged, before he stopped and checked the map.

There were supposed to be fields around him right now, not a forest.

“You’re going the wrong way,” someone behind him pointed out, and Jason whirled around. He _recognized_ that voice.

“Damian?” he said, like it was a question, but Jason already knew it was him.

The Brat Wonder was perched on a branch, swinging his legs and smirking at Jason like he’d finally found the way to literally look down his nose at the world.

“How did you get here?” Not that Jason knew where ‘here’ was, but still -- _someone_ ought to keep their eye on the pint-sized terror.

“I walked,” Damian said. “I knew you’d go the wrong way. It’s very like you, Todd.”

“And what the hell is that supposed to mean?” Jason asked, almost offended.

“Only that you never seem to go where you want to go,” Damian replied, and let himself fall. Jason’s breath caught in his throat; but Damian landed safely and smoothly rose to his feet.

“You’ll have to go the right way this time,” Damian told him.

Jason growled, and kept his voice calm in his next statement with great difficulty.

“Which way would that be?”

Damian smirked, and pointed in almost the exact direction Jason had come from.

“Of fucking course,” Jason sighed, and paused just before he turned around. “You want to come with me? Maybe show me the way?”

“No,” answered Damian. “The way is yours to find. But perhaps I could shadow you, stay out of sight and tell you if you lose yourself again.”

“I would appreciate that,” Jason said. And maybe he’d be able to get Damian back to his family this way, after he found the Fountain everyone wanted him to visit.

He set off and Damian disappeared again, into the trees like he’d decided against following Jason after all. Jason knew Damian was still following, though, somehow.

Jason continued until he came to a fork in the road and he muttered, as though to himself, “And which way am I supposed to go here?” He was rewarded with a rock which seemingly threw itself down the right path, and Jason ducked his head so his invisible companion wouldn’t see his grin.

He came to a clearing filled with dandelions, and the clouds were so bright that the dandelions lit up like they were the ones glowing.

There was a man there with his back to Jason. Jason thought he would’ve recognized him even if the man hadn’t turned around when he heard the grass rustling.

“Dick,” Jason said.

Dick smiled, somehow happy and sad at once. Jason knew that smile; it was the only one he’d gotten from Dick lately, on the rare occasions Dick _did_ smile.

“Hi, Jay,” said Dick, almost as quiet as the dandelions shifting in the wind.

Jason didn’t know what to say without something immediately wrong to talk about. Words bubbled out of him. “I have Damian with me,” he said. “He’s safe.”

“I know,” Dick replied, letting his lips curve up a little more. Then, “Let me see your knife.”

“It’s not mine,” Jason objected, because _he_ took better care of his knives, but fumbled it from his belt anyway. The blood on it looked even dirtier against Dick’s hands.

Dick ran his fingers along the flat of the blade and rubbed at a particularly dark spot, watching it flake off. Jason frowned; he had tried that, and it hadn’t worked for him at all. He didn’t have time to wonder why it worked for Dick, because Dick stopped in the next moment and gripped the knife’s handle tightly.

“You have to keep going,” Dick told him urgently, and stepped closer.

For a short, panicked moment, Jason thought Dick was going to use the knife on him. He flinched back, and Dick paused for a long second before slowly offering the knife to Jason by its blade.

“Uh. Thanks.”

Dick hadn’t managed to get much of the blood off, but it was _something_. Jason didn’t know what was up with that.

“ _Go,_ ” said Dick. Jason frowned, but he went.

There was only one path from there, which was lucky because Jason was pretty sure he’d left his guiding shadow back with Dick.

It started to drizzle, as the trees thinned out; not enough to make him wish for an umbrella, but the damp made it feel a little more like Gotham. It was too bright still, but he could close his eyes and pretend, if he wanted to.

It wasn’t long before he found another large clearing, and with it, he found Tim.

Tim was wearing _his_ Red Robin suit, cowl down and hair mussed like he’d been wearing it only seconds before. It was a familiar image; Jason couldn’t say how often he’d seen Tim like that, both in the real world and in his imagination.

“What are you doing here?” Jason asked.

Tim grinned, wide and bright.

“Don’t worry,” he said. “I’m here to help.”

“You practice saying that, don’t you,” replied Jason, amused by the thought.

“Shut up and take help when it’s given,” Tim suggested primly. It sounded like he was imitating Alfred; the latter part was something Jason had heard said to Bruce many, many times.

“How are you going to help me?”

“Give me the knife and I’ll show you,” said Tim.

“Of course,” Jason muttered, sighing. He handed it over easily enough, and watched Tim fiddle with the knife for a few seconds. Despite the rain to help, the dried blood wasn’t coming off any easier for Tim than it had for Jason. He found himself unexpectedly disappointed by that.

Tim frowned at the knife, then looked up toward the clouds above them and smiled. He weighed it in his hand for a second before lifting it to his own throat in a motion too quick for Jason to stop.

“Tim!” Jason lunged, but Tim dodged his reaching hands as easily as he ever did. “ _Don’t_ \--”

“Don’t _worry,_ ” Tim echoed himself, laughing, and turned his hand so the blade lay flat against his throat.

Jason stopped his attempts at the knife. His hands were suddenly adrift in the air; his thoughts fizzing out like the last dregs of a soda just on the edge of going stale.

“What...”

Tim let his hands drop. There were flakes on his neck now, and the rain distorted the sight so it looked almost like fresh blood, or gemstones, rust-red against his skin.

“You have to take it to the Fountain now,” Tim said quietly. “Don’t stop again until you get there. It’ll be worth it.”

“Worth it,” Jason repeated with narrowed eyes. “And how exactly would you know?”

“I’m very smart, you should listen to me more,” replied Tim, eyebrows raised like he was challenging Jason.

“Yeah, I’ll start doing that as soon as I can,” said Jason insincerely. “Mind pointing me in the direction of this Fountain?”

“It’s that way” -- Tim pointed -- “and it’s close. You’ll find it soon enough.”

“Soon enough for _what,_ ” Jason muttered, but Tim ignored him. Jason shook his head and started walking in the right direction, taking note of the shape of the clouds in that way. It wasn’t as accurate as actually knowing which way north was, but it was better than nothing.

“Don’t you want a goodbye kiss?” Tim was grinning, his head ducked mischievously and his lip caught between his teeth. It was a good look on him.

Jason stopped in his tracks and turned to look at him fully. “Are you asking for one?”

“Yeah, I am,” Tim told him.

Jason glanced down at the blood flakes on Tim’s neck, then back up at the soft smile on his face.

“Okay,” said Jason. He stepped in to rest his hand on Tim’s cheek and press their lips together for a moment that seemed both too short and just right.

Tim’s eyes were still closed when Jason pulled away, the ghost of his smile pulling the corners of his lips up.

“I’ll see you when it’s over,” Tim said, and Jason nodded wordlessly, hearing it for the goodbye that it was.

Jason started walking the way Tim had shown him. It was growing darker; either the trees above him were blocking the light better, or the sun was going down behind all the clouds. Jason guessed it was both. It gave the forest an eerie quality, and even the slightest rustle had Jason on his guard.

Jason wasn’t surprised when a shadow slipped from behind a tree to join him.

“What took you so long?” he groused, glancing at Bruce sidelong.

Bruce didn’t have the costume on, discarding that in lieu of a white shirt and dark jeans, but his serious expression held all of the gravity of the Batman. It was enough to raise Jason’s hackles -- not that that was hard; Bruce’s mere presence was enough for that, most days.

“I was waiting for you,” Bruce replied. A more relaxed man might’ve put his hands in his pockets, but Bruce let his arms move only slightly, like he was a toy soldier brought to life who hadn’t quite gotten the hang of elbows yet.

“That must’ve been hard for you,” said Jason, irony dripping from the tone of his voice.

Bruce only looked at him, that patient blank face that he always used when he wasn’t putting on some mask or other. Jason itched to do something just to make Bruce’s expression crack at the seams a little, but he must’ve grown as a person because he didn’t let himself act on the impulse. _Progress._

“Do you know where this Fountain is?” he asked instead.

Bruce nodded and strode on ahead, shoulders shifting slightly in that way which would’ve made his cape flare out dramatically if he’d had the costume on. He always used to do that at home when he wasn’t being Brucie, let the edges of Bruce and Batman blur into each other; Jason found himself suppressing a small, fond smile.

Jason didn’t have to follow Bruce for long, which was good -- he’d started to look idly along the path for little pebbles to throw at Bruce’s back. They came upon a cobblestone area that was lit up like it hadn’t noticed the sun was setting on the rest of the world around it, and in the center of the stones was a wide basin with water spilling down gently from a bowl in the middle.

“So, this is it, huh?” It didn’t seem all that impressive to him. It sure didn’t deserve the capital letter he’d just _known_ his family was giving the word. He’d seen fancier _drinking_ fountains in _Gotham_.

“Yes,” said Bruce. “This is it. Give me the knife.”

Jason set his jaw and leaned back a bit, evaluating Bruce with narrowed eyes. Taking orders from Bruce still rankled, even now when they were both _trying_.

“Please,” Bruce added, seeing Jason’s mulish expression.

It was enough. Jason gave it to him, hoping this was the last time he’d have to hand the knife over to anyone. He’d grown oddly attached to it by now, even with its stains and dull edges. He almost hoped he really would be able to get it clean, and then keep it afterward.

Bruce only glanced at the knife for a second before wiping the blade across his white shirt and leaving a wide red-orange streak. Jason had to blink a few times to convince his brain that the streak hadn’t formed a bat on Bruce’s chest.

“You’ll have to wash it in the bowl,” Bruce said. “The basin’s not going to be good enough.”

Of course it wasn’t. Jason rolled his eyes, and couldn’t help but needle Bruce. “You’re too lazy to do it yourself?” he mocked.

“I can’t touch the water,” said Bruce matter-of-factly.

Jason let out an amused huff in the next breath. “What? You _can’t?_ I don’t see anything stopping you, B.” He took the knife back despite his words, shaking his head.

Bruce didn’t answer, choosing instead to step back and nod toward the bowl like he was offering it its chance to take the spotlight. Jason snorted, and stepped in carefully, trying not to slip on the tiles at the bottom of the water.

The bowl wasn’t far from the edge -- only just far enough that he couldn’t have reached without stepping in. Jason dunked the knife in the water and watched, dumbfounded, as the old blood floated off like there’d never been any trouble getting it off.

“Huh,” said Jason. He checked over the knife to make sure it was fully clean, then stowed it in his belt so he could get out easier.

He tried to walk toward the edge so he could get out -- but when he went to turn around, Jason found that he couldn’t lift his feet.

“Bruce,” Jason said, feeling his pulse kick up and his throat get tight, “Bruce, I can’t move. I can’t move, Bruce, help me.”

“I can’t touch the water, Jason,” Bruce said. This time, it looked like it hurt to say. “It’s all yours. I can’t help you with this, you won’t _let_ me.”

“But I _want_ you to help me!” Jason yelled, trying desperately to yank his feet from the bottom.

With a sick feeling, Jason realized the tiles under him were sinking. Water was rising up out of the cracks in the bottom. It stayed at the same level while he and the bottom went down, down, down.

Bruce looked like he was two yards away and a million miles at the same time. “You’ll have to tell me that.”

“I just did!”

“That’s not what I meant,” said Bruce. “You’ll have to talk to me, Jason. I can’t help you now.”

There was something about his voice that reminded Jason of Doctor Fate’s. It had to have been Bruce being confusing that did it. Jason was confused -- and scared.

“I’m drowning. You can’t help me, and I’m drowning,” Jason said blankly.

“No, you’re not,” Bruce pointed out. “Not anymore. Tim got you out.”

The water was at his neck now, and Tim was nowhere in sight. Jason would have scoffed, but he didn’t dare.

“Help,” he croaked, “please,” as the water tickled his chin.

“I’m sorry,” was all Bruce said before everything went black.

* * *

“You’re awake,” was the first thing he heard when he opened his eyes. Tim’s voice, close to him, _relieved._ It was a good sound to wake up to.

“Yeah,” Jason breathed, looking around. They were in Tim’s apartment, in Tim’s guest room if Jason wasn’t mistaken. He thought he recognized the bookshelf, at least.

He was really here. He’d been asleep. Or --

“Did I pass out?”

“That’s what happens when you can’t _breathe_ ,” Tim said, looking half-tempted to throttle him. “You could’ve drowned. There was a gunman who got your helmet and then you threw it at him. And then you were pushed in by another man who’d snuck up from the side.”

“Yeah, I remember,” Jason told him, sorting through his blurry memories of what had happened. He tried to sit up, but couldn’t -- both because his body was too weak, and because Tim had barred him from going upright with an arm across his chest. Jason sighed. “All right, what’s the prognosis, Doc?”

“Leslie’s already been,” said Tim smugly. “Lots of bedrest, lots of soup, no strenuous activity, and a checkup in a few days with some house visits in store if you develop pneumonia. Which is likely.”

Jason stared at him for a second, then asked, “She trusted _you_ to make _soup?_ She’s braver than I thought!”

“Oh, shut up, I can make soup from a can,” Tim informed him, rolling his eyes.

“Or you could ask Alfred to package some,” Jason suggested, but he was interrupted in the middle by his own yawn. 

Tim shook his head and stood up. “All right, back to sleep. I’ll have some food and water for you next time you wake up.”

“But I just woke up,” protested Jason despite his eyelids growing heavier by the second.

“And you need rest,” Tim said.

He leaned in and kissed Jason on the forehead. Jason closed his eyes to savor it for a moment and sighed.

Tim pulled back and smiled fondly at Jason, running a gentle hand through his hair. “Don’t worry, I’ll be here when you wake up.”

“I know,” said Jason, and let his eyes shut again.

**Author's Note:**

> Find me on [tumblr](http://lexiconallie.tumblr.com)!


End file.
